


This Is Time I Made For You

by LilacSolanum



Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate
Genre: Clubbing, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, miraculous healing of blindness, shame at Pride
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-15 23:16:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 12,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12330801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilacSolanum/pseuds/LilacSolanum
Summary: A collection of drabbles and fics written for Animorphs October. Originally posted on Tumblr.





	1. Pizza Rolls For Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> The lovely [Bleck](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Bleck/pseuds/Bleck) organized [30 days of prompts](https://miraculoussparrow.tumblr.com/post/164906900561/animorphs-prompts) for October, which I have been participating in as a way to learn how to write short flashes and not commit EVERY IDEA to a 15k short story. It's been going okay. Due to the nature of these, they have all been unbeta'd and edited only by moi, who is An Dyslexic. If you see something, say something. Save a life. Be the change you wanna see.
> 
> Some of these pieces are going to go in my collection for the Ani Parents, [You're So Much Like Me; I'm Sorry.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11564292/chapters/25979343) At least one of them is getting held back because I want to write an extended cut. If you want to see all of these bad boys, follow me on [Tumblr](http://lilacsolanum.tumblr.com).
> 
> Big giant shout out to [Cavatica](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cavatica/works), who not only talks me down from my constant but persistent urge to Lie In Bed And Play Super Mario Run While Watching Food Network, but also listens as I ramble through my ideas for the day, because why plan ahead? She is a hero and a saint. I literally would not have written the first one if it weren't for her gentle guidance.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Group Bonding. Set after #54

Marco, allegedly, threw parties, only Marco didn’t really throw the parties. He would decide a party ought to be had, then he would consult with his accountant on how much money he should and could spend. After that, he would have his assistant du jour contact his preferred event planner. He and the event planner would have a brief meeting, either over dinner or on the phone between gigs, depending on how busy Marco was that week. The event planner would contact the caterers and the entertainment and the decorators, and his butler would let them all into his house. On the day of the party, Marco would dress himself in a stylist chosen outfit, and float toward what he called his ballroom with an invented excitement. He would mingle and gossip and network, holding a martini glass in his hand for show, adjusting his feigned inebriation depending on the interaction. When the party was over, he would speak to the event planner, and thank her for her work. The event planner would have the caterers and entertainers and decorators clean the place up. The accountant would take care of the check. The assistant would tie loose ends. Marco, for what it was worth, got to choose his own pajamas at the end of the night.

Marco, this time, had definitely thrown the party himself.

It was his birthday week. He had already had his annual bash with his industry friends. That had not been the sort of party with fabricated inebriation, and Marco typically was choosy about who he invited to gatherings of that nature. This was a few days after, and the party was not to take place in the ballroom but, rather, his bedroom, which was more or less a spacious studio apartment. He was baking pizza rolls in the oven. He had a spread of potato chips and Chex Mix and Mountain Dew on his coffee table. He had a birthday cake from the nearest grocery store, because Marco missed the taste of shitty grocery store frosting. The cake was decorated with Disney princesses, and Marco couldn’t wait for everyone to see and roll their eyes at him. He wore jeans and a black T-shirt with the Nintendo logo on it. His hair was loose and relatively free of product. He had the newest Tony Hawk ready to go in his Playstation 2.

He had only sent out three invitations. One to Ax, who was on Earth for a few days. He would come for the food. He sent another one out to Cassie, inventing a guest list that would entice her. He’d thrown her a half hearted question about Tobias, but she was evasive as always. He’d left message after message after message on Jake’s answering machine, pleading and begging, and had finally gotten an annoyed confirmation that he would come. No one knew it would just be the four of them. Dreaming of this evening was what had gotten Marco through the week.

Cassie was the first to cancel. Crisis among the Hork-Bajir, as always. That was fine. It’d just be the boys, then. It wasn’t all lost.

Ax canceled next. That surprised Marco more than anything. He said it had something to do with inner Andalite politics, but Ax was terrible at lying, and Marco eventually got it out of him that he and his fellow Andalite bigwigs had an opportunity to go to Disneyland. Not for the first time, Marco felt like Ax had left his old, nerdy friends to hang out with the popular kids, but in this case the popular kids were fellow members of his species, so Marco tried to have a realistic attitude about it.

Jake just didn’t show.

Marco threw out all the food without eating it.


	2. Loren Gets Mad Prose-y

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Flowers. Set after. The book when they find Loren. That book.

Tobias visited Loren, and brought her plants and flowers. He placed them in front of her, and lined them up in a perfect row, in a specific order. “Um, I remember learning the science behind this right before I — stopped going to school. The colors are arranged like this because of wavelength. So red has the longest wavelength, and violet the shortest, right? That stuff doesn’t really matter, though. You just need to remember the name Roy G. Biv. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet. I’ll keep bringing you things and arranging them like this, so that you can learn all the colors. Okay?”

Loren nodded, feigning understanding. There was so, so much more to color than eight plants arranged in a senseless line. Her head would not stop aching. She loved Tobias’s visits, but she longed to put her blindfold back on.

Loren had had sight for all of three days. The world of it appearing so suddenly to her, with no preamble and no warning, had sent her inside the dark memories of her second-birth, when she had emerged from the car crash with nothing inside her. She remembered learning the word for the hard spots on her fingers, the “nails”, and she remembered the voice called “mother” explaining what they were in gentle tones. She remembered her sister explaining blankets with much less patience. She remembered her brother ridiculing her. Secretly, she was resenting having to repeat the whole process with sight. She wouldn’t tell anyone, least of all her son. People who had something often assume having it was the default, and to not have it was an impossible sadness. Loren disagreed. She was learning, first hand, that it was a much, much more complex issue.

She looked at her son with the same careful consideration she gave herself in the mirror. There were a few mirrors in the Hork-Bajir Valley, all handheld and small, but one had been given to Loren for permanent use. She could not recognize herself, after all. She had been told she had blonde hair, but the phrase had no meaning until she held the mirror up to her face. She knew she had blue eyes, but the vibrant shock of the sky sitting on her fleshy face had surprised her. She had heard the word ‘freckles’, but she never truly knew how joyful they were, little spots all across her face as if someone had been careless with paint.

When she looked in the mirror — when she looked at her face — she had to cut up her reflection into shapes. To look at a face as a whole was too confusing, too much all at once. All faces looked like two eyes, a nose, and a mouth until she slowed herself down and committed to the look of just one part, then moved on.

She knew herself as pale, with skin pulled tightly over her bones. She saw herself with a triangle nose, a nose that was far from an understatement but was not over large. She saw her eyes as large circles, and thought her eyes might be larger than most eyes, but she was unsure. Her lips were thinner and rectangle shaped, pale and prone to disappearing when she smiled.

She saw her son in this manner, parsed into small features. Their noses matched. Their skin matched. He did not have the color of her eyes, but they shared the same shape.

She had known he was hers when he spoke. She had claimed him when he came to her. But to see the pieces of themselves and imagine them overlapping in perfect alignment? That was proof that she had made him.  
There was a look in Tobias’s eyes, a glint and a slackness, and Loren was not sure what it meant on it’s own. Facial expressions would never flow easily toward her. She would always need to listen as her son spoke, revealing his emotions in pauses and tones, hiding folded messages between his words. 

And when he spoke? She knew that expression was sadness. Tobias was sad, just as Loren was sad. Her mother was gone, and her siblings were too father-damaged for love. Her family’s history was written with pain, generations after generations of misguided humans misguiding others. 

Loren reached out and placed her hand on Tobias, at the spot where his arm met his body, a thing she was certain was called a shoulder. He flinched from her, unused to touch. Perhaps he was even wary of touch. She smiled, a simple thing that did not require sight. “Thank you,” she said, and she vowed to learn what joy looked like by bringing it to her son.


	3. Shame Parade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Pride. Set after #54; Marco's POV

Normally, when I’m at a club, I don’t do a lot of dance floor. Don’t get me wrong, you get me at a house party? Somewhere where there’s no threat of the wrong person seeing Marco the Animorph enjoying himself when he’s just a couple years shy of twenty-one? I’ll bust out my moves. And let me tell you, they’re great moves. Not only do my hips don’t lie, I’ve got some of the most aggressively truthful hips you’ve ever  _seen_. People hire my hips to perform interrogations. My hips chopped down a cherry tree, didn’t lie about it, and then grew a whole new cherry grove.  
  
But today, I had a shitty tequila sunrise in one hand, and my other hand was resting on a guy’s shoulder while we danced. It was Los Angeles Pride, I’d been out in the sun all fucking day, and it was time to work up a new kind of sweat.  
I’d given into the whole guy thing almost a year ago, but I hadn’t really made a big deal of it. Marco The Animorph has to be an apple pie kind of American, and that guy typically doesn’t suck cock like it’s going out of style. But this was my first Pride as a bi guy, and I wasn’t going to miss it for the world.  
“I appreciate that we’re leaving room for Jesus,” I said, shouting over the thumping music. “But I’ve been avoiding that dude for couple of years now.” I don’t think the guy heard me, but when I put my free hand on his ass and forced him closer to me, he got the message.  
  
“What’s your name,” he asked, yelling straight into my ear.  
  
“Wayne Gortsky,” I said, and kissed him with lips that were a little thinner than I was used to. It was a nice change of pace to incline my head down instead of up, let me tell you.  
  
Listen, there’s pride, and then there’s job security.


	4. Homemade Chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Relaxing. Cassie POV. Set after #54, and pretty much also set in my [The Rachel](http://archiveofourown.org/series/827961) universe.

 

Ronnie and I couldn’t have been more of a cliche. We were at a ski resort, and we were drinking hot cocoa in front of a roaring fire in our cabin. We were also snuggled under two incredibly thick and luxurious blankets because we were, you know. Supremely naked.

Ronnie was idly flipping through TV channels. That part felt a little bit less idyllic, seeing how winter vacations in Canada were supposed to be all warm beverages and books, but Ronnie really liked having the TV on at all times. I didn’t really understand it myself, but Ronnie said the noise comforted him.

I was just about to close my eyes and drift away to sleep when Ronnie suddenly paused on CNN.

“– Andalites have reported that Jacob Berenson and Marco Ruiz-Champlin have been found intact with Aximili-Esgarrouth-Isthill –”

My heart jolted and I pushed all the blankets off of me. I stood up, pacing around the cabin, filled with a sudden and strange energy.

“Cass?” asked Ronnie, sounding completely bewildered. That’s when it hit me, all at once and in full: I was incredibly, powerfully angry, and I had absolutely no idea why.

I collapsed onto the sofa, taking deep breaths and forcing myself to calm down.

Ronnie got up and walked over to me. He started to sit down, then sort of hesitated and straightened back up. “Is this one of those don’t-touch-me times?” he asked. The question wasn’t condescending or defensive, it was honest. I resisted Ronnie for so, so long, because I felt like a beautifully uncomplicated guy like Ronnie could never really understand me. I’m not unscared. I’m not whole. But he listened, and he learned, and he always respected me and my space.

“Yes,” I said. “No. Yes and no. I – do you know what I want?”

“Nope,” he said. “Tell me.”

“The gift shop had these little bags of chocolate turtles,” I said. “They were packaged in little pieces of tulle, and tied together at the top with a red ribbon. They were definitely homemade. I wanted to buy some at check in, but we didn’t have time. I want one of those chocolate turtles.”

Ronnie blinked. “Babe, the gift shop is probably closed,” he said.

I let out a deep breath and closed my eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, it probably is.”

Ronnie paused for a moment, and then said, “You know what? I bet the front desk has a key to the gift shop. I bet as long as I pay for the candy and slip someone a twenty, I can make this happen. If my baby wants a chocolate turtle, my baby gets a chocolate turtle. Where are my pants.” I opened my eyes and watched as he stomped around the room, looking around for wherever we had thrown our clothes. “If I threw my pants in the fire than I – well. I’ll buy new pants, probably.”

I smiled and hugged my knees, allowing tears to fall down my eyes. I was feeling a lot of things, but first and foremost, I was feeling loved.


	5. Let Ax Say Fuck 2017

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: First Date. Set after #54. Ax's POV.

It took me half a season to finally seek out Estrid-Corill-Darrath. It then took nearly five four-days to actually locate her. She was, of course, legally dead according to all Andalite records. I had to seek out her parents, and convince them I was trustworthy enough to receive her location. I pulled in many favors for them. They have been issued a new scoop on my behalf.

Even I am not entirely sure why I sought her out. I have seen many female Andalites since Estrid, many of them much more to my liking. Estrid had merely been a “drop of water in a desert,” as they would say on Earth. Now that my circumstances have changed, I hold no real attachment to her. If I am being honest with myself, I much prefer male Andalites as a whole. They are often taller than me, with larger tail blades.

However, I do find some female Andalites attractive. Would Estrid still seem beautiful to me? Would I still be drawn in by her cerulean fur? Her lithe form? Her sea foam eyes?

Being legally dead, there are few places on Andalite that Estrid can safely go. I offered to take her to Voktra, the perhaps slightly left-of-legal center for human pleasures on Andalite. The military turns a blind eye to it, and will never know she was there, especially if she spends the majority of her time in a human morph. She agreed.

We morphed human and exchanged items for mouth pleasures. We found some of the M&Ms she had been so fond of, and I gave up a television remote for three packages. Andalites are very fond of the devices humans use to awkwardly mimic thought-commands. Many of them find a remote to be quite humorous, if when it is not programmed to a television and has no practical purpose.

We ate the M&Ms in near silence, speaking up only to comment upon the complexities of taste within the candy. As it turned out, Estrid did not remember very much about the M&Ms. She said she did not much dwell on her time on Earth. It disappointed me.

Our reunion was going poorly. I brought out my old Farmer’s Almanac. It was a precious item to me, one I thought Estrid might appreciate, as she had spent time on Earth.

She flipped through it without reading a word. “Humans are moronic,” she announced. “Nic. Mor-on-nic. They do not deserve these lovely bodies.”

I felt myself growing warm. I took Estrid to a tent that sold human intoxicants, and exchanged the book for two bottles of wine. I enjoy wine, especially that of the Barefoot brand. It tastes not unlike motor oil, though slightly less acidic.

We demorphed, and morphed again, using an Earth timer to gauge our morph safe zone. Both Estrid and I had the military implants to perfectly keep time, of course, but even a military implant can be dismissed if one is intoxicated enough. A loud, obnoxious, terrible sound, however, could not.

We drank. Estrid savored her drink, but I had never been much for slow consumption. I believe human pleasures are best experienced in wild fullness, without restraint. However, with intoxicants, I do try to slow down. When Marco and Rachel gave me my first bottle of alcohol, I had assumed the bottle itself was the proper serving, and drank it in one go. It was something called “whisky.” I have been told the results were unpleasant and almost lead to my death, though I remember nothing.

Wine is not as strong as whisky. I am aware of this now. With restraint, I managed to take nearly a half-human-hour before finishing my bottle.

In time, my head was in Estrid’s lap. She was looking off at the timer.

“This isn’t going well,” I said.

<Your speech is quite slurred, Aximili,> said Estrid. <I am having trouble understanding you. Please, use thought-speak. Just because a human morph has a mouth does not mean it must be used.>

<This is a shitty fucking date,> I said, and then I giggled, as I had said two words that Prince Jake had made me promise never to use. He was not here to reprimand me. “Fuck,” I said out loud, just for the joy of it. “Fuck. Fffffuck.”

<You are not making sense,> said Estrid, annoyed.

<This does not make sense,> I said. <I feel we should have a stronger bond.>

<Why?> asked Estrid. <Because you were there when I chose failure over a great and clean win for all Andalite kind?>

<Yes,> I said. <Because you and Gonrod are the only other Andalite to experience Earth before we made official contact, and Gonrod never morphed human. Because you and I shared a bond. Because we exchanged mouth pleasures. Because I kissed you. Because the only other sapient in the universe who nearly understands me is a red tailed hawk who will not speak to me. I thought, perhaps, your experiences on Earth would have made a great impact on you.>

<They did not,> said Estrid. <Not everyone has the same love for humans that you do, the Traitorous Aximili of Earth.>

I flinched at the name, and then I stood up and began to demorph. <I still do not like you very much,> I said.

<I share the sentiment,> said Estrid.


	6. Wheaties Box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Snacks. What's that? This is set after #54? WHO WOULD HAVE GUESSED.

Even at the ripe age of eighteen, Jake grocery shopped like a well rehearsed bachelor. He only bought frozen foods, cereal, and occasionally the ingredients for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. He bought those things as soon as his last batch of frozen food, cereal, and preschool food ran low. He only went to the grocery store between the hours of midnight and 6:00 AM. This was largely because Jake kept very odd hours, but it was also practical. Jake had broken down and hired a security team, which made simple travel a little awkward. He was much happier to slip out with a message to not follow, then grab food on his own when no one would be in the store. Jake should have a personal assistant run these errands, but he kept putting off hiring one. They always quit on him, anyway.

Jake grabbed all the frozen dinners he could reasonably pile into his home freezer. Briefly, he wondered if he should install a bigger freezer in the garage, allowing him to store more dinners. He had the money, but did he have the motivation?

He started down the cereal aisle. Blearily, he grabbed his old stand-bys. He had this down to a ritual, almost. Three boxes of Cheerios, two boxes of Special K, two boxes of Wheaties–

He froze in front of the Wheaties.

Jake had grown up tracking the athletes that appeared on Wheaties boxes. He would often beg his mom to buy a new package even if they already had a ton of Wheaties at home, just because he saw one of his favorite basketball players smiling beneath the logo. He would often claim he’d be on a Wheaties box Marco always told him Jake could never do it.

Now, Marco was staring at Jake from the iconic orange box, smug and short and basically unathletic.

Jake stared at Marco-on-Wheaties, scowling. “Your favorite cereal is Fruit Loops,” he said to the box. He then quickly looked behind him, making sure no one had seen him talk to himself in a grocery store at 3 AM.

Jake sighed, stubbornly pushing past the new boxes and trying to find Wheaties without Marco’s face on them. He couldn’t find anything. He could either forego the cereal, or deal with the cashier’s comments as she ran up cereal for Jake Berenson that was emblazoned with another Animorph’s face.

Jake hadn’t felt much of anything lately, but the fact that Marco beat him to the Wheaties box was digging up old and buried feelings of childhood jealousies, feelings that were almost normal.

Jake would enjoy feeling anything while it lasted.


	7. The Intense Politics Of Best Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Before. Set pre-series.

Melissa was Rachel’s best friend. That’s just the way it was. They had been best friends since pre school gymnastics, when they both realized they had the same Little Mermaid lunch box. They were best friends in Mrs. Esposito’s kindergarden class and best friends in Mrs. Stewart’s first grade class.

Then came the Great Divide of second grade. In second grade, Melissa ended up in Mr. Pierce’s class, and Rachel was with Mrs. Xiong. When the list of second grade classes came out, Rachel and Melissa held each other and cried as if they were going to different universities in different states.

Rachel and Melissa still saw each other at lunch and recess. That made it better. What didn’t make it better, however, was some girl named Cassie.

“You’re my best friend, Melissa,” Rachel once proclaimed, “But Cassie is my best Mrs. Xiong’s Class friend.”

Melissa didn’t like that. Melissa didn’t share very well, and she hated sharing Rachel most of all. She tried to get her dad to move Rachel out of Mrs. Xiong’s class, but he wouldn’t do it. Melissa cried.

For her birthday, Rachel hosted a sleepover for both Melissa and Cassie. Melissa didn’t even want to go. Cassie only liked scary things like bugs and horses. Melissa and Rachel liked Pretty Pretty Princess and watching Fantasia. Melissa was sure Cassie would make the night weird.

When Cassie was dropped off at Rachel’s, she went straight to Melissa. She was holding a really pretty necklace. It was silver, with pink and white beads and a ballerina charm. Cassie thrust the necklace toward Melissa.

“Here,” she said brightly. “I thought this was really pretty, just like you!”

Melissa took the necklace from Cassie slowly. “Thanks,” she muttered, feeling herself blush.

It was a good start to a good sleepover. In the end, Melissa decided that she was definitely Rachel’s #1 best friend, but Cassie could be a little bit her friend, too.


	8. The Anomaly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: No-War. Set literally whenever.

Marco, Rachel, Jake, Tobias and I were huddled in an editing bay on campus. Tobias was part of the film program, and had easily gotten us access. We were pretty sure this dark and silent room was the closest we’d get to real privacy for a very long time.

Jake had a map of the city laid out on the table, and was marking it up with lots of red pen. Marco was pacing in a corner, deeper in thought than I’ve ever seen him. Tobias was almost sitting in Rachel’s lap, and Rachel was running her fingers through his hair.

The scene was too still, too meticulous. I suddenly felt that Rachel should be leading a charge, not calming herself. Marco should be scheming, but not scheming himself in circles. Jake didn’t need a map. “No,” I said. “No. We’re coming about this all wrong. Rachel, do you remember when we were kids and we would play tag?”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” said Marco. “We just found out about a big scary alien invasion and the only thing we can do to stop it is become bunny rabbits and puppies, but let’s reminisce!”

I ignored him. Marco had been an asshole to me ever since I started dating Jake in our senior year of high school. I had a theory why, and I didn’t hold his anger against him. I couldn’t blame him for having feelings for Jake.

I had a sudden and strange – memory? Daydream? Fantasy?– of me, Jake, and Marco in some crazy place with too many colors. I looked about eight years younger. I was pulling away from a kiss with Jake, and Marco was saying “What? No kiss for me?”

I shook my head, ignoring the image. “Look, I’m just saying … we’re thinking too much. We don’t know enough to plot out some big, huge plan with no margin of error. We just need to go, get down into that Yeerk pool, and say ‘tag, you’re it.’ Just like kids.”

The world went dark.

—

We were so bold, so cocky on that first mission into the Yeerk pool. We had all escaped by the skin of our teeth, running away while some body builder ex-host attacked the strong but small Visser One. When I look back at it, we should have been more suspicious of our easy exit. I think Visser One let us go on purpose. The invasion of Earth was going very well, with little resistance. Visser One was bored. She played with us like a cat does a mouse, batting it around until the cat’s hunger grew too great.

Visser One had had cameras installed in the Yeerk Pool. She knew that five animals came in, and that four animals had come out. She watched the cameras, searching for the red-tailed hawk’s body, but she found something better. She found him slinking away in the middle of the night, when even the Yeerk Pool somewhat slept. Visser One knew full well that the hawk had been in the Pool for more than two hours. One of his feathers had been burned. Visser One remembered that feather.

She had controllers all over Santa Barbara keep an eye on the sky. Eventually, they found Tobias. She didn’t have him killed outright. She spied on him. She watched as the hawk flew to my parent’s barn, and watched as he spoke to me, Jake, Rachel, and Marco. She watched us for a few months, just for her amusement. She watched when we rescued Ax.

It was only when we came very close to destroying the Kandrona ray that Visser One tired of us. She had us each called to the principal’s office, where we were immediately knocked out by Chapman. When we came too, we were all chained in the Yeerk Pool with Dracon beams pointed at our faces. The message was clear: Morph or die.

I looked around at everyone. I didn’t see Tobias or Ax, but that didn’t mean they were safe. Marco was crying. Jake was speaking to him in a low voice.

I realized something. Maybe it was just the shape of the lips or the texture of the hair, or maybe it was some other piece of knowledge buried deep inside me, but I suddenly knew. “Visser One is your mom,” I said. “This whole time.”

Marco sniffed. “Give the lady a prize,” he said, angry and bitter.

There was something else I knew. “Listen,” I said, practically hissing. “She’s not supposed to be in charge. Someone else is. Some kind of – Andalite-Controller. We need to find him. He’ll help us fight her. We need to find Visser Three.”

The world went dark.

—

I was bleeding, and I knew the wound was fatal, and I knew help wouldn’t come in time. At least Odret was feeding, and I would die as myself, with all my body parts responding to  _my_ requests while they could still function. I wrapped my hand around a Dracon beam I’d gotten off a dead guard’s body. I thought about how much I had helped, and then I thought about how many I had killed, and then I felt myself crying.

Slowly, I rose up on my elbows, just because I could. Above me, I saw one of the Andalite Bandits. This one was the lion, the huge and terrible beast that was constantly attacking the others.

The lion bared his teeth and lunged toward a group of humans who were racing toward a Yeerk pool exit.

“Stop!” I yelled. “They’re free! They’re innocent!”

The lion ignored me.

Suddenly, as if possessed, I screamed “David! Stop!”

I don’t know why I said David. I had never even met a David. Still, the lion responded. He immediately ran toward me, roaring. <How do you know me? How the fuck does some  _ugly bitch_ know who I am?>

Flash: A dead hawk. Flash: A dying tiger. Flash: A body in an elevator, cold and covered in flies.

I knew the Andalite Bandits were the only key to freedom, yet I aimed my Dracon beam and shot the lion between the eyes.

The world went dark.

Alright, this was getting old.

“That’s the seventeenth time!” I shouted into the darkness. “Pick a reality already!”

I TOLD YOU. EVEN WHEN YOU CHOOSE THE ANIMORPHS, said the Ellimist, smug and triumphant, THE SUB-TEMPORALLY GROUNDED ONE FINDS A WAY. THERE IS ONLY ONE TIMELINE, CRAYAK. ONLY ONE TRUE FIELD, NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES YOU TRY TO MOVE THE BATTLE.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Yeah, Crayak,” I snapped. “Just stop already.”

I felt a sickening lurch in my stomach, the pull that meant I’d be back in the real timeline soon. I could never really remember the other realities when I’m back in my right-self, and I never really wanted to.

—

_When she gives the morphing box to Tom, Cassie knows only one thing: she’s made the right decision. She doesn’t know why, and she doesn’t know how, but she knows her decision was bold and true with a fierceness she just can’t explain._

_Sometimes, Cassie knows what’s best for the timeline._


	9. Baby Aspirin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during #29

Marco had been sort of a sickly kid, but Eva had always been the one to deal with it. When Peter had a hard time getting out of bed and Marco needed care, Peter would call his mom. She’d take Marco for a while, then return in a week with both Marco  _and_ a two hour long lecture about the state of Peter’s affairs.

For whatever reason, in the last year or so, Marco hadn’t had so much as a sniffle. Peter had been knocking on wood the whole time. Peter didn’t even know how to deal with himself when he was sick, nevermind his fourteen-year-old child.

So when Marco had come home from school, way too pale and swaying on his feet, Peter had absolutely no idea what to do.

Marco’s room was up the stairs, and Peter was half afraid Marco’d never make it. He had tried to pick Marco up and carry him, but Marco had  _not_ liked that. Peter ended up pushing Marco onto the couch, then running up to Marco’s room himself. He hovered at Marco’s bedroom door, wincing at the mess, and he wondered if he should discipline Marco about cleaning. Then Peter remembered Marco had cleaned up after him for two years, and Peter pushed the thought aside. The boy’s room could be messy.

Fifteen minutes later, Marco was sitting on the couch, dazed and wrapped in his comforter. Peter had also brought down Marco’s Gameboy, though it was apparently the wrong one. Peter liked video games well enough himself, but when it came to Gameboys, he was utterly clueless. He just kept buying them for Marco for various Christmases.

Peter went back upstairs and combed through Marco’s disaster of a room, searching for “the purple one.” Once the correct Gameboy was secured, Peter was immediately sent back up to Marco’s room to search for Marco’s copy of Wario Land. By the time Peter was back downstairs, Marco was completely passed out.

When Marco came too, he was worse than ever. He was muttering to himself and talking nonsense to the air. Peter started shaking. He had no idea if this was normal or not. He felt delirium was a pretty big deal, but what if it wasn’t? What if this was just the way Marco was when he was ill? He didn’t want to waste the emergency room’s time over nothing. He also really, really didn’t want to call his mom.

Eventually, Peter went to their medicine cabinet. There was a container in there, a box that had made it through all five of Peter and Marco’s moves. It contained all the things Eva had bought to take care of them. Pills, syrups, powers; it was all in this plastic tupperware.

Peter fished through it, trying to pull out things that seemed good for Marco’s situation. He picked out about four of the bottles, then went back to the couch and set them on the coffee table. With shaking hands, Peter started reading the labels, wanting to make sure he didn’t overdose his only son.

“Dad,” said Marco. “That’s baby aspirin.”

Peter’s head whipped toward Marco in surprise. “You can see me?” he asked lamely. Marco hadn’t been responding to Peter’s presence for almost an hour.

“What?”

“Just – nothing.”

“Do you seriously think I still take baby aspirin?”

Peter could feel himself blushing. He turned the bottle over in his hands. “I guess I figured you were closer to a baby than you were to an adult,” he admitted.

“I’m fourteen,” said Marco. “I’m twelve years past diapers, but four years away from legal porn. In what world do I take  _baby aspirin_?”

Peter took a deep breath, and set the aspirin down. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Look, maybe I should call your Grandmother –”

“No!” said Marco, quick and almost panicked. “No. She doesn’t let me watch TV.”

Peter laughed. “She never let me watch, either.”

The boys fell silent for a moment. Then, Marco picked up the offending medicine, turning it over in his hands. He read something, then laughed. “This expired in 1993, dad. Why do you still have it?” He paused. “Actually, why did mom keep it?”

Peter shrugged. “She was never the most organized person.” He hesitated, then added, “You know, Marco, your room –”

“Is my sanctuary and I will worship as I choose,” said Marco.

Peter laughed softly. “I suppose,” he said. “So. Do you feel better?”

“Nope,” said Marco shortly. “I could do with some very many, very adult, big boy aspirin. And, like. Gatorade.”

“We don’t have any Gatorade,” said Peter.

“Can you get some?” asked Marco, somewhere between earnest and petulant.

“Would you be okay with me leaving?” said Peter.

Marco barked a laugh. “Believe me, dad, I have no idea how I’m going to die, but I’m pretty certain it’s not going to be by sitting on this couch and watching a Bewitched marathon.”

Peter smiled. Marco’s humor used to just darken Peter and make him miss Eva more than ever, but Peter had been growing. Now, he loved Marco’s Eva-like sarcasm. She was gone, yes, but she lived through Marco. He knew, now, that that was a gift, and not a curse.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-war; Marco's POV

This was my, what, forth? Fifth? Time doing _The Tonight Show_. By now, the writers had more or less backed off. I knew what I was doing, and they trusted me. At least there was that.

I wasn’t really promoting anything, but Yeerk sympathists had been doing a number on visiting Andalite’s lately, and the media was slowly starting to turn against the Andalites and root for the terrorists. I can’t say it didn’t make any sense – the Andalites have been dangling space travel above our heads for three years and kept asking us to dance for it. It wasn’t exactly ideal, though. So I called Jay and let him know I wanted in. I think they bumped Tom Cruise for me, which was incredibly satisfying.  

Now, I was chatting with Jay, drawing on a story I’d never really told in detail. This would distract the media for at least a few days, giving me some time to think of a better way to calm down the well-the-Andalites-deserve-it narrative.

“So there’s my mom,” I said, my body turned just slightly toward Jay, “Standing in front of me, totally in the flesh and, like, fresh flesh. This is not a Day Of The Dead situation. Believe me, the thought crossed my mind.” The audience laughed. I laughed with them, a small sort of laugh that made it look like I hadn’t been planning that joke all day.

“Look, I’m not going to tell you seeing my mom alive and standing before me was easy. You know what I did, Jay? You know how when people give bad news they always say ‘You better sit down for this?’ Well, I sat. I just sat down, right there, with a bunch of Dracon beams pointed right at me. Oh, and I was a giant gorilla. Just imagine King Kong kind of just…” I made my fingers walk across Jay’s desk, then squealed, “Mommy!” in the highest voice I could manage and I slammed my hand down. The audience loved it.

“Now, me and Jake go way back. Way, way back. Modelling diapers in the backyard together kind of way back. Our moms constantly bought us matching clothes, and we have all these old photos where we look like Mary Kate and Ashley if Mary Kate was Puerto Rican and Ashley was twice his size,” I said. Laughter. “So, Jake starts whispering to me like ‘Calm down man, be cool man, we’re gonna knock that Yeerk from her head ASAP, but we gotta wait for the right moment.’ He recognizes her, too. The rest of them have no idea, they never met my mom. It’s not like when I was nine I was like, “Hey, my best friend’s cousin’s best friend, wanna come over and kick it with my mom? She makes a damn good Oreos-laid-out-on-a-plate.”

“Does she?” interjected Jay, pretty much just to remind the audience that he was still there.

“Best in town,” I said. “Anyway, so Visser Three’s all like ‘You meddling kids!’,” I said, shaking my fist. Laughter. “And my mom’s Yeerk is being a mega-jerk about the whole thing. See, Visser One was the first Yeerk on Earth, the founding of The Sharing –”

A jeer washed over the audience like a tidal wave. I held out my hands, as if physically pushing the sound down. “Hey, hey!” I said, shouting over the crowd. “Don’t worry guys. Cut to three years later, and my mother crushes that bitch to death with her own two hands.”

The audience erupted with loud, whooping cheers. I grinned, and nodded a few times, as if were appraising and approving the crowd’s noise level. “Yeah,” I said as a I nodded, looking as proud as my mother as I’ve ever been. “Yeah.”

I leaned over and nudged Jay. “Sorry about the language,” I said.

“It’s okay,” said Jay, chuckling. “I think you’ve earned it.”

“Anyway,” I said. “Visser One is all high and mighty over her superior knowledge of Earth, Visser Three is over that bragging about his host body and being in charge, and the whole thing is very Betty versus Veronica. Visser Three leads us to some waiting chamber, where it’s pretty clear that we’re all gonna. You know. Die,” I said, but the immediately held my pointer finger out to the audience. “But we didn’t. Wanna know why?”

“Tell us why,” said Jay, gesturing toward me.

I slapped my hand on Jay’s desk. “Visser One wanted to make Visser Three look bad. One of her cronies came in and let us go. Just a few weeks into the Animorphs career, the Vissers had us, and we made it out due to petty politics. Next time a bunch of aliens think they can come and scoop up this planet, they better be a little more organized than the Yeerks.”

Cheers. Loud, crazy cheers. Some of the audience members stood up, even. It would have been more rewarding, only I hadn’t really told the story at all.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after #45; Tobias's POV

I was eating my dinner, minding my business, when suddenly I heard Ax say, <Marco is sad.>

My feathers rose in surprise. I snapped my head toward Ax, knowing my fierce predator gaze would shake him a little. <No duh!> I said.

<He does not want to say with us,> continued Ax. <I think he would much rather be with his family at this time.>

<Yeah, probably,> I said. <But it takes way too long to get to the Hork-Bajir Valley. Jake needs him here.>

<Of course,> said Ax. <But he did not sleep much at all last night. I do not believe he enjoys sleeping on the ground.>

<I mean… oh,> I said, thinking back to the morning. Marco had gotten up with me and basically followed me around the forest, making dumb comments. He had probably been up so early since he hadn’t slept at all.

<We are not human,> said Ax. <It has never occurred to us that our living conditions are not suitable for one.>

<I guess not,> I said, feeling slightly embarrassed that I’d never thought to set Marco up with at least an air mattress. Funny how quickly you forget about furniture when you’ve been sprawling out in trees for the past three years. Ax’s scoop was designed for an Andalite, not a Marco. <You know what? Let’s go to Rachel. She’ll know where to start.>

We found Rachel pretty quickly. Then, we found Erek. We needed wheels, after all.

It was summer. Peak garage sale season, according to Rachel. We went from driveway to driveway, scrutinizing the wares and trying hard to make sure Ax behaved when there were baked goods for offer. Rachel haggled with strangers three times her age and somehow made them feel like they owed her a favor. When we were done, Rachel had stretched the 45$ we had accumulated into a Laz-E-Boy, a bunch of blankets to drape around the scoop, some Christmas lights, a lamp, a few cushions, and a storage bin that doubled as a bench. We even had about 7$ left over.

Ax took the 7$ and made Marco take him to Cinnabon. While they were gone, Rachel got to work inside the scoop. She pinned the blankets up everywhere, which I thought would look weird, but ended up making the place feel soft and welcoming. It was kind of like a sophisticated version of the blanket forts kids sometimes made. It was proof that you could give Rachel any collection of rags, and she would whip it up into something beautiful.

Marco had a hard time keeping it together when he saw. He wasn’t usually a sappy guy, but he’d been through a lot lately, and I could see his eyes shining over. “Uh – thanks,” he said, swallowing. “It’s like if the inside of Jeannie’s bottle was designed by Polly Pocket.”

Rachel hit his shoulder. “You love it,” she said, accusing. “I nailed it. You have a favorite color, and it’s baby powder blue, and you can’t hide that from me.”

Marco gave a wet sort of tear-soaked chuckle. “You’re right. I can’t.”

<Hey,> I said. <It’s the least we could do. None of us technically exist. Welcome to the Scoop of the Living Dead.>

Marco laughed, perhaps a little longer and a little harder than he normally would.


	12. Marco Why

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after #45

The thing about when people die is that you have to attend their funeral. The thing about when people pretend to die and don’t actually die, is that the subsequent funeral is pretty awkward.

 

I was dressed in all black and wearing a tie that was way too tight. I was there with my mom, whose face was all red and blotchy. I didn’t blame her. It  _ was _ really sad. According to her, Peter and Marco had just gotten their lives together, and now they had been viciously murdered in their own house. Her son had lost his best friend. She was right to be distraught.

 

Problem is, I’m not really much of an actor, and I had just seen Marco that morning. I excused myself to go splash water on my face and hope it looked like tears.

 

I turned on the faucet and stared at it for a moment, trying to figure out how I could do this without making it look like I had dunked my face into a toilet. Then, I felt a strange sort of tickle against my shoulder. Instinctively, I reached behind me to slap at the spot.

 

<Jake! Jake stop!>

 

I shouted in surprise and jumped three feet in the air, as if someone had jumped out at me. Then, I regained my composure, and got very still. “You didn’t,” I hissed, suddenly very thankful this was a family style bathroom.

 

<I did,> said Marco.

 

“Where are you --  _ what _ are you?”

 

<Your back, wolf spider. Hey, I’m going to demorph while we’re here, just in case.>

 

I crossed my arms and waited for Marco to become a human. When he was done, I stepped forward, my back and shoulders straight as they could go. “This is beyond stupid.”

 

“Yep,” said Marco, a dangerous tone in his voice that sounded like a challenge. “What are you going to do? Kill me?”

 

I considered, then sighed. In his twisted little brain, he probably needed this.

 

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll let it pass. But if I decide it’s too risky, you leave. Got it?”

 

“Aye, aye, Captain. Hey, am I crazy, or did my shitty spider eyes spot Marian Le?”

 

“You’re crazy, but Marian is here.”

 

Marco gasped. “She doesn’t call me back, then has the audacity to come to  _ my  _ funeral?”

 

It was hard not to crack a smile. “Only you would enjoy this, Marco.”


	13. Nineteen Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set a year after the war.

I’m way cooler than all the other hawks in the forest, and it’s _not_ just because of the whole sentience thing. What was way more important was my phone.

It wasn’t a phone as much as it was a very small, very light, very tight thought-speak capable device that people could call when needed. Cassie sort of forced it on me. I didn’t really want it at first, but she’s kept her promise to never give anyone but Loren the number. I always keep it on my ankle, and it zips into z-space like a morphing suit.

It’d gone off twice today, which was really weird. I mean, if only two people ever contact you, then it’s pretty wild when they do so at the same time. I called Cassie back, but got her answering machine. She was probably busy. I called Loren, and she answered right away.

“Tobias!” she said, bright and happy. Loren was always really quiet and reserved back in the Valley, but now that she’s sort of found her footing, she’d gotten a lot more confident. I guess she had been really twisted inside because of the way her family treated her when she lost her memory, and she didn’t have a ton of friends. Now she had more understanding of why her memory was lost, and had a community. All the parents had gotten pretty close in the Hork Bajir Valley, I guess. They kept in contact more than the Animorphs. Sometimes she even went out into the city with Eva, even if she found anything but farmland really overwhelming. I understood that more than anyone.

Loren was really changing. I felt proud of her, in a weird, distant sort of way. I mean, it’s not like I had any part in it, but I was just really glad she was using her friends for support and getting better. It’s more than I can do.

<Hi, Loren,> I said. The phone could understand my thought-speak. It was some Andalite tech that humans weren’t supposed to have yet, but Cassie had pulled some strings. I wonder if Ax helped her. I hope Ax is happy. I think about him a lot, but I don’t really contact him or anything. He’s back on Andalite now, and a Prince at that. He’d achieved all his dreams. I’d just bring him down.

“Happy birthday!” she said. I blinked and ruffled my feathers, even if she couldn’t see.

<Uh,> I said. <Thanks.>

That explained why I’d gotten two phone calls in one day. The passage of time had gotten a little skewed for me these days. I sort of wish it hadn’t. I hate it when people remember my birthday, and would have liked to have been more prepared. I feel like I have to pretend to be excited about it, put on a face to make others feel comfortable. In reality, I had no attachment to my birthday. It was just another day. It pretty much went unnoticed by my aunt and uncle, unless my aunt was dating someone and wanted to show off how great a parent she was. Honestly, those birthdays were the worst ones.

“Are you close to my place?” asked Loren.

I thought about it. I flew around a lot, sort of doing my own version of a post-high school road trip, except it was a sky trip and also I never graduated from high school. I was in southern California, though. I could be at Loren’s in a few hours or so.

I thought about lying, but before I could finish the thought, I found myself saying, <Yeah, I’ll be there around eight, maybe.>

\---

I was there at 7:46, according to Loren’s microwave clock. I’d morphed human, of course. I never felt really comfortable being a hawk around Loren. It seemed sort of disrespectful, like, she’d carried me in her body for nine whole months and then what did I go ahead and do? I become bird boy. It sort of felt like wearing an itchy sweater grandma knitted for you so she wouldn’t be offended, except, you know. Way worse, and also super, super weird.

That didn’t mean I felt really comfortable as a human at all. I felt heavy and slimy and my mouth kept filling up with nervous saliva, which was disgusting. It was so foreign to me. My cheeks were just flooding with recycled fluid for no reason! I wanted to spit it out on the ground and get it all out of me, like I could empty myself of all the complicated hot chemicals that run inside my human body. I know my hawk form is complicated and gross to some, but they just don’t get it. It’s not at all like being human. I was all excess and hormones and adrenaline and I wanted none of it.

I sat very still on Loren’s couch. She’d given me a glass of milk, which was the only good thing about visiting Loren. I shivered with the taste of it. It was creamy and slightly sweet and cold. I sipped at it slowly, imagining it was cooling off my burning human body.

Loren had left the room. I shifted nervously, clutching the milk between my hands like it was a lifeline. Eventually, she returned with a giant cardboard box filled with brightly wrapped presents. I’m sure my face was as blank as always, but I felt a tensing in my shoulders where the ghost of my wings lay.

“What is that?” I said, feeling my body run into a really wired fear mode. I ignored it. One good thing about not really connecting to a human body is that you didn’t have to deal head on with all the dumb stuff it did.

“Your presents!” she said, smiling broadly and gesturing toward the box.

I blinked. “I don’t need any presents,” I said. Some voice in my head reminded me that that wasn’t the right response. Loren probably was looking for some sort of excitement or appreciative noise. But what I said was true, and it’s how I felt, and sometimes that’s the thing that comes out of my mouth first.

She didn’t seem to mind. “I figured you’d say that, but I thought it would be fun just to open them. Here --”

She thrust a package out to me. It was weirdly shaped. Flat, but bulging out in the middle. I took it gingerly, then stared at it.

“Open it!” urged Loren, her eyes dancing with mischief.

I started to move it around in my hands, then stopped. I looked up at Loren. “Do I have to rip it open?”

Loren blinked, her cheerful expression seeming to falter a little. “What? What do you mean?”

I shrugged. I think I was blushing a little. “I really don’t like the sound wrapping paper makes when it’s torn, and I. I sort of think it hurts? The whole thing sort of rubs me the wrong way, I guess. So I like to open up gifts by pulling apart at the tape.” I also got a really weird satisfaction rush from seeing a completely whole piece of wrapping paper, but this was all already so weird, and I felt that’d confession would be a step too far. “My au- uh, Brandi, she hated when I did that. She said it took so long, and that I should just rip it.” She also said I was making up that it hurt, but that seemed like another thing I shouldn’t say to Loren.

“My goodness, Tobias, no! Open it up however you like!” said Loren, her voice going all high like she was shocked. I felt bad for bringing up my aunt. She always got upset when I said anything about her. I quickly started to peel off the tape, opening the package as fast as I could.

When I took the wrapping paper off, I saw a pacifier.

I had so little idea of how to react that I actually had a reaction. My mouth dropped, just a little. “I, um. Are you -- is this, like, like you’re pregnant? So you’re telling me I’m going to be a big brother with this pacifier?”

Loren burst out laughing. I was still really confused, but her laugh soothed me, just a little. She didn’t always laugh back in the Valley, so when she did it, I felt really comforted. Like, if Loren can go through all that she went through and still laugh, then maybe things aren’t so terrible.

“No, not at all. Good guess, though. Alright, here’s my plan,” she said, sounding really proud, like Cassie did when an animal they thought wouldn’t make it finally got released back into the wild. “You and I didn’t get to grow up together. Right?”

“Yeah,” I said. I shifted a little, yearning for a feather to preen. I don’t remember how to fidget in my human body anymore.

“So that means I missed nineteen birthdays,” said Loren.

“Uh,” I said. “I guess.”

“So I got you nineteen presents,” she said. “One for every year I missed.”

I didn’t react. It’s not just because I’m bad at reacting, it’s because I just went completely blank. It was like every brain function I have just sort of stopped and stood in awe of this woman, and the fact that she actually cared anything about me.

She paused, searching my face. “I know you don’t really want even a normal present, nevermind, like, a pacifier. I’m going to donate all this stuff when we’re done. I just thought it’d be a good memory.” Then she dug into the big box again. She pulled out another present and thrust it at me. “Here,” she said. “This is for your second birthday.”

Somehow, I ended up with the present in my hand. Somehow, I opened it. My human self, as terrible as it is, had completely taken over. My fingers deftly pulled at the wrapping paper. I did like fingers. Fingers were really good. I wish I could have wings and fingers at the same time.

I pulled out some sort of plastic ring with rotating primary colors. I looked up at Loren. “What is this?” I asked.

“A teething ring,” she said. “I went shopping for a lot of the early stuff with Eva. She said two years teethe, which is why they’re notorious monsters. They’re all in terrible pain. They get stuff to chew on for when the pain is too great. Well, Eva said two is a little old for that sort of teething ring, but, you know. Close enough.”

“Oh,” I said. That’s all I could say. I was still in emotional stasis, still more concerned about my fingers than I was the objects in front of me. “Um. Next one?”

Year three was this cool little pop up tent I would have loved as a kid. Year four was a set of those really big Legos. Year five was crayons, because I would have started kindergarten, and they were name brand and everything. The set even had one of those crayon sharpeners in the back. I always wanted one of those. Year six was a toy dinosaur. Loren told me she’d done her research, and knew I had a major dinosaur phase. She’d probably talked to Cassie. I just asked for the next present.

That’s all I could do. Open the presents, set aside the perfect rectangle of paper, and then set aside the gift. I didn’t have enough voice to say thank you. I couldn’t tell Loren how much I loved the crayons.

Year seven was a Jenga set. Loren had got it because Eva told her Jake and Marco used to love Jenga. She said she wanted to play it with me. The idea of playing a game where a tower would suddenly and loudly crash made me feel tense, but maybe it would have been fun with Loren. Year eight was a rock polisher. That was really nice. Year nine was a bike. An actual bike. She brought it in from the hallway. Some lucky kid was going to love that thing when she donated it. I didn’t tell her I never learned how to ride a bike. It’d just make her upset.

Year ten was this sort of toy microscope that was something close to a real microscope, just made out of plastic. I should have been so happy, because that was a really cool gift, but I just kept worrying about how much money she spent on me. It was really weird feeling, especially since most of her money was technically mine. I gave her all the spoils from my rewards and royalties and life rights. What was I going to do with it? Pierce my beak and wear the Hope Diamond? I had no reason to feel guilty, she had plenty of money, she could do something big like this. I mean, it was for a good cause at the end of the day, right? But I felt guilty anyway. I felt really, really guilty, and almost shamed. This must have taken so much work to organize. Maybe her money was sort of mine, but her time wasn’t, and she’d used so much of it for me.

I still couldn’t bring myself to really say anything.

Loren was starting to look sort of deflated. I couldn’t blame her.

Year eleven was a really cool, really fancy art set. I once told her I used to draw, and I guess she remembered. This one was really great. I had no possessions, but I wanted to keep this set. I wanted to put it in some storage locker and live the rest of my life knowing it was there for me, smooth and new and shining and waiting for whenever I wanted to use it.

Year twelve was a version of Trivial Pursuit designed for seventh graders. I didn’t tell her I was still in fifth grade when I was twelve. I got held back for missing a ton of school one year when my aunt made me stay home for almost two months, then I got held back again because both my aunt and uncle lost some paperwork in a school transfer that lead to me repeating fourth grade. I never brought it up, so all the other Animorphs thought we were the same age. Only Loren really knew, and only because she knew the exact year she lost her memory. I guess she never knew I was in the same grade as the others. Probably because I dropped out of school when I was fifteen and started mouse hunting.

The next present was a copy of _A Wrinkle In Time._ Loren wrote “For Tobias. Happy thirteenth birthday. From, mom.”

I set it next to me quick, like it was burning my skin. “I need to demorph,” I said, and ran out the door. I didn’t need to demorph, not at all. I had plenty of time, but I desperately, desperately needed to fly.

\--

It was late when I got back to Loren’s. I morphed right on her doorstep, and rang her doorbell three times. She came out in pajamas. Then, I did something I’d never really thought to do before.

I hugged her.

I never really liked hugs. My aunt would make me do them when she was done screaming at me, and the hug was always some symbol that she was absolved of all guilt and everything would be fine going forward. Only Rachel ever made me feel okay with an embrace. I tried not to think about Rachel these days, but as I held Loren, I sent a thank you out to wherever she is now. I hope she heard. I could never have hugged Loren if it hadn’t been for Rachel.

“A _Wrinkle In Time_ is my favorite book,” I said against her shoulder. Her body sort of shook, and I think I heard a sob.

We pulled away from each other. I took a deep breath. “I love it,” I said. “I love all of it. I love all of it so much that I don’t know how to tell you.”

She smiled at me, and her eyes were shining like she had tears in them. “I love you too, Tobias. I love you more than I ever thought I could love anyone.” She leaned forward and grabbed me again, holding me a lot closer than I had held her. She even rested her head against my chest. It was a little much, but I bore it, because she was Loren.

We were never going to be mother and son the way Eva and Marco were, or Jean and Jake, or Michelle and Cassie. Loren was right, we hadn’t grown together. I didn’t know her as a parent in the same automatic way that I see in other families. She had never hung my drawings on the fridge, never kissed away my bruises, never walked me to the school bus. But she was a mother all the same, my mother, my family, and she made me feel _loved._ She had bought me a dinosaur. She had bought me a bike. She had bought me my favorite book.

I felt something strange and hot on my face. I tensed, assuming it was some sort of weird human decay thing, and then I relaxed. I was just crying. I’ve never cried because I was happy before.

Loren let me go and smiled at me. “I know you get nervous when you’re around people too long,” she said, gently. It wasn’t accusing like it sometimes was when Cassie said it. It just was. “But you know you can come see me whenever you want, right? You know that?”

“I do,” I said.

“Good,” she said. “Because I need practice reading, and I have no idea what this book is about. I’d love to read it together.”

I laughed a little. I don’t normally laugh outside thought-speak, but the idea of a mother stumbling through some of the longer words while her son patiently waited was sort of funny in a dark, twisted kind of way. I guess that’s what our family was. Funny, dark, twisted, but us, and we loved each other for it.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Shopping. Set before the series. I was going to extend this and post it as a separate fic, but then I realized I will never do that.

Elfangor had been on Earth with Loren for three days. The entire time, he’d been in her basement, because there weren’t a lot of other places Elfangor could be. He was a sort of blue color that stood out more than a little, he looked not unlike a horse, and he had eyes on antennas. They couldn’t exactly catch the latest Steve Martin film.  
  
Elfangor desperately needed a human morph, and quickly. 

  
  
He wasn’t doing very well confined in Loren’s basement, and Loren was having a hard time keeping the rest of her family away (not that it really mattered. Her siblings were never home, her mom didn’t really leave the kitchen, and all Elfangor had to do with if Loren’s father saw him was knock him out with the flat of his tail blade. Her father was not the sort of guy to admit he’d seen an alien and was immediately bested by it in his own home. He was the sort of guy who would take that confusion and anger out on Loren’s mother, and Loren was desperately trying to avoid that.)   
  


It was all far, far easier said than done, seeing how Elfangor needed to physically touch someone in order to acquire them. Loren had been driving herself mad trying to come up with some plan that allowed Elfangor out in public, all while Elfangor fell deeper into what could easily become a terrifying sort of boredom.  
  


The closest thing to a start was to talk to her hopelessly nerdy friend Derek. He was her go-to science lab parter in school. He wasn’t popular with anyone else, but Loren found him endearing, and he would do all the projects himself and score the both of them an A. She gave him a phone call under the pretense of catching up, and they went out for lunch. She figured if she could tell anyone that she had an alien in her basement, she could tell Derek. In the end, she didn’t have to admit anything to Derek. He’d given her a much, much better idea about where to find Elfangor a human morph.  
  


Loren ran downstairs to the basement, holding the family cat to her chest. “It’s me,” she called out. Elfangor stepped out from behind some abandoned boxes they’d arranged to hide him. He didn’t say anything to her. He had been talking less and less.   
  


Loren thrust the cat out to him. “Can you morph him?” she asked.  
  


Elfangor eyed the cat warily. <Of course,> he said.  
  


“Then do it,” she said.  
  


Ten minutes later, Elfangor was a cat, locked inside a pet carrier and buckled into the passenger seat of Loren’s father’s ‘76 Hyundai. She’d driven her mom around a few times without incident when she was younger, and she figured she’d be fine on the road even if she’d technically didn’t have her license. Sometimes, it paid to have a really fucked up family.  
  


<I do not understand the point of this,> said Elfangor, who was curled up into a perfect little cat-ball.  
  


“It’s not like you can fit into the car otherwise,” said Loren. She flipped the radio on, tuning it to the local top 40 station. Chic’s Le Freak exploded from the speaker. Loren started tapping her fingers against the steering wheel.  
  


<I could have acquired you,> said Elfangor haughtily.  
  


Loren laughed. “People would notice if there were two mes around. It doesn’t work that way.”  
  


<Do not mislead me,> said Elfangor. <I have done nothing but study Earth through the backwards device you call a television. I watched a dramatic recreation of a story called The Parent Trap, and I am aware of the concept of twins. If we are driving out of town like you said, would people be aware you have a twin?>  
  


Loren paused for a minute. “Oh,” she said. “Well, whatever. You’re a cat now.”  
  


Elfangor hissed, and Loren laughed.

 

 

Three hours and one remorph later, Loren arrived at her destination. It was a hotel, nondescript if not for the people wandering around in wildly outlandish outfits.  
  


“Okay,” she said, keeping her voice low so that no one would hear her talk to her cat, “We’re going to run to the bathroom, and then you’re going to demorph, and then we’re just going to sort of. Walk around.”  
  


<In public?> asked Elfangor, shocked.  
  


“Yes,” said Loren firmly. “Tell me, have you encountered any science fiction on the TV? Star Trek? The Jetsons? Land Of The Lost?”  
  


<I have seen the dramatic recreation Mork and Mindy,> said Elfangor. <I have so many questions. To begin —>  
  


“We’ll sort through that later,” she said smoothly. “But the idea that humans imagine a fake version of space, you understand that part, right?”  
  


Elfangor considered for a long moment. <Honestly? Not entirely.>  
  


“Doesn’t matter,” Loren said, opening the car door and unbuckling Elfangor.  “Basically? People who really dig sci fi like to hang out together and talk about sci fi. Some of them dress up, get it?”

<I do not ‘get it,’> said Elfangor, sounding irritated. <I am more confused than ever.>  
  


“Just — don’t talk to anyone but me. That’s going to be the one thing I can’t explain away,” said Loren. “Oh, and don’t move your tail or stalk eyes if you can help it. Try to keep your tail down low, as if there’s no way to hold it up. Drag it on the floor, even.”  
  


<Do you hate my dignity?> asked Elfangor. <Why are you taking so much away from me?>  
  


Loren just shushed him.

 

 

They were soon walking side by side through the sci fi convention. Loren’s shoulders were back and she was standing tall. She was soaking in the attention. Sure, she hadn’t exactly constructed Elfangor’s ‘costume’, but it was the most beautiful and elaborate costume by far. It didn’t matter if she cheated a little by pulling in an actual alien from outer space, a win was a win.  
  


People started gathering around them, mouths open, eyes wide.  
  


“Who are you supposed to be?” said someone who was painted blue. Loren appraised her. Elfangor had explained the whole process to her, that he could acquire a couple of people and make a new person out of the combined DNA so no one would be duplicated. She’d checked to see if he could acquire women and still end up a guy, and this girl had really,  _really_ nice legs.  
  


“It’s a series called Andalite,” said Loren. “It’s pretty obscure. It’s from Japan.”  
  


The woman nodded in understanding. Privately to Loren, Elfangor said, <I am so lost and confused that I have crossed the border into terrified.>  
  


“Yeah, it’s this whole series about staying calm and trusting people,” said Loren loudly. “Hey, listen, my friend here is, uh, Japanese. Doesn’t speak a lick of English. But he really enjoys, um, handshakes? Can you shake his hand? You understand about American handshakes from TV, right Elfa- … Alan … Fangor?”  
  


<I do,> said Elfangor to Loren. <My hands are quite sensitive, however, so I would prefer->  
  


“Wait, does he understand English?” said the blue woman.  
  


“It’s complicated,” said Loren. She looked at Elfangor. “Just shake her hand, okay? Because when you shake her hand, then you can, you know.  _Shake her hand._ ”  
  


The blue woman seemed weirded out, but she still reluctantly offered up her hand. Elfangor took it and didn’t shake it, so much as he moved his elbow back and forth while making the least contact with her as he could. The blue woman went slack. Elfangor looked at Loren with his main eyes.  
  


<It is done,> said Elfangor.  
  


“I want to shake his hand!” said a guy from the crowd that was forming around them. Loren looked him over. He had an unnervingly circular sort of face, as if he were less of a human and more like a pumpkin on a dummy.  
  


“Nyah,” she said. She pointed to a blonde boy in a Star Trek uniform. “You, though. Come here.”

 

 

An hour and seven people later, Elfangor became Alan Fangor for the first time. He was tall and willowy, with the sort of deep brown eyes that had always made Loren melt. They were offset by a beautifully curly mass of pale gold hair. She grinned.

  
“I can’t believe I just got to go shopping for my perfect guy,” said Loren.  
  


“I’m an attractive human?” asked Elfangor, sounding surprised. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and then inclined his head as he considered the sensation. “Having a mouth is strange.”  
  


“Let me show you what to do with it,” said Loren, and she did.


End file.
